


Hands-On

by thecarlysutra



Series: Lakota Calendar [9]
Category: Thunderheart (1992)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-13
Updated: 2011-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray did best with a hands-on approach.  For rarepair100 prompt #4: <i>outside</i>.  Another installment in the <i>Lakota calendar</i> series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands-On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vodkaplaid](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=vodkaplaid).



  
The Sioux had their own calendar, just like they had their own language and customs. Ray was trying hard to learn all of them, and Crow Horse was doing his best to teach him, but it was slow going on both ends.

It was late May by the _Wasi’chu_ calendar and _Wipazuke Waste Wi_ —When Berries Are Good by the Sioux. Crow Horse had decided the hands-on method of teaching was the best for Ray, and had taken him up the hills to the far edge of his property. The sun was high and hot, and they were sweating by the time they reached the thatch of tall bushes with small, white, bell-shaped blooms.

“You brought me all the way up here to pick flowers?” Ray panted. “That’s incredibly gay, Crow Horse.”

Crow Horse frowned. “Fuck you. These are chokecherries, smart-ass. That’s what we’re here to pick. Now get to work.”

The buckets Crow Horse had made him carry up the hill made sense now. Ray started filling them with the dark red berries. After about ten minutes, he got bored and popped one in his mouth. He winced.

Crow Horse chuckled. “Sour?”

Ray spat. “Ugh, yes! Why are we doing this?”

“My ma’s gonna make a pie. They’re tastier if you don’t leave them to their own. Anyhow, you picked the wrong one; you want the black ones. The darker they are, the sweeter.”

Crow Horse picked a fat, black berry and held it, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, before Ray’s lips. Ray looked at him a moment before opening his mouth, letting Walter place the fruit on his tongue. He was right; it was sweeter. But not sweeter than Walter’s mouth as Ray kissed him. Ray dropped his bucket; he felt chokecherries spill over his boots, felt some crush against his torso as Walter grabbed for him. Dark juice smeared over his shirt, his skin, marking the path of Walter’s hands trailing over his body.

Ray did best with a hands-on approach, Walter figured.  



End file.
